


I Saw Three Ships

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), The Big C (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/F, M/M, No Previous Knowledge of Ships Necessary, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Three ships live in the same neighborhood; at Christmas, hijinks ensue.Each chapter is a prompt fill fromthe holiday drabble prompts list. Feel free tosend me a request on tumblror leave one in the comments here!1. Nigel/Lee, prompt 62. Ryan/Shane, prompt 133. Nigel/Lee, prompt 204. Alana/Margot, prompt 105. Ryan/Shane, prompt 15





	1. Lee/Nigel: “Don’t get your tinsel in a tangle.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I wasn't going to start any new fics, but IT'S MULTI-FAITH AND ECUMENICAL WINTER HOLIDAY TIME AND I DO WHAT I WANT.
> 
> [launches a sleigh into orbit]
> 
> Happy holidays!

Nigel rubs at his nicotine patch as if it will help, like it can calm his nerves as well as a cigarette could. Not even the view distracts him; if anything, looking up at Lee’s skinny ass makes it worse, no matter how much Lee wiggles as he hangs icicle lights from the edge of their roof. He gives the patch one last press before extricating his fingers from beneath his coat, returning his hand to the ladder to join his other.

“Can you pass me another light clip?” asks Lee, voice muffled by his thick scarf.

“Why couldn’t we just blanket the fucking hedges with those...what the fuckever they’re called. Net-shaped fire hazards?” Nigel pulls the same hand off the ladder again to dig a clip out of his pocket. “Do a string around the porch. Buy a goddamn light-up plastic creche for the yard. Maybe a Santa.”

Lee snorts, reaching down to take the clip without looking, trusting Nigel to put it in his hand. “What, let Santa visit the Christ child? That sort of thing?”

“Why not?” The rung is cold beneath Nigel’s palms, even with the mittens Lee haphazardly knit him during his last round of chemo. “Give Jesus a Rudolph nose and be fucking done with it.”

“I’m not letting the Verger-Blooms win the neighborhood light contest ag--” Lee hisses, finger caught and punctured on a shingle, and all Nigel can think of are germs and low WBC counts and infections and spending another Christmas in the hospital. “I don’t suppose you have a first aid kit on you, huh?”

Nigel puts his foot through a rung, wraps it around the back of a rail, the sole of his shoe flat on the ground. “Believe it or not,” he says, unzipping the inner pocket of his coat, “I come prepared.”

“But are you prepared to come?” and Nigel can practically hear Lee’s eyebrows waggle.

Still, “A cut’s fucking serious!”

“It’s just a flesh wound, good sir,” Lee says, laughing.

“Will you please come down here?”

“Would be far more adventurous to come up here.”

_ “Darling.”  _ The ladder rattles, and Nigel finally looks up, gravity-pulled from his bandage search to moor in Lee’s eyes, more cerulean tonight than blue--Nigel swears they shift color along with Lee’s mood. He watches Lee carefully turn his whole body around, putting his elbows around the rails and his back to the rungs. “Gorgeous,” he says, soft as Lee makes him feel.

Lee shakes his head, all fondness and amusement. “You need to stop acting like I’m going to die if I get pinched.”

“Old habits.” Nigel sighs, unwinding himself from the rung. He plants his hands next to Lee’s shins. “Only been three months since the all-clear. Don’t want you to fucking overdo it, yeah?”

“And miss the chance for you to dote all over me?” Lee’s smile is brighter than the Verger-Blooms’ lights across the street. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[reblog this drabble on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/180698220479/for-the-holiday-drabble-any-heu-pairing-and-6)]


	2. Ryan/Shane: “Your opinion wasn’t in the recipe.”

The door to Shane’s office opening sounds completely different than the creak of whatever-it-is in the attic, so Ryan keeps slowly chopping onion. He knows the fall of Shane’s feet, too, especially when he’s rushing downstairs like he is now, feet thudding as he hopscotches down three steps at a time.

“Ryan!” Shane skids to a stop, leaning around the doorway, hands gripping the wall. “Ryan, Ryan, guess what?”

“Santa’s bringing you quieter shoes for Christmas?”

“Only female reindeer have antlers in the winter!” Shane looks like he does when they’ve had a night out, all red-faced and bright-eyed, a man possessed, and Ryan dismisses that last thought immediately.

“This is relevant why?” he asks, instead. “Though I’m assuming it’s something to do with the special podcast.”

“It means Santa’s reindeer are girls. Or women. Whatever, they’re not he-deer.”

Ryan turns back to his work. “Wouldn’t...is that specifically important? I think Rudolph was the only one of Santa’s reindeer to get an assigned gender.”

“That’s the point!” Shane’s chin settles on the top of Ryan’s head. “Accidentally inclusive claymation.”

“What do you--wait, did you call them he-deer?”

Shane pokes around in the simmering pot. “Are you making taquitos?”

“Tamales,” Ryan pries Shane’s hand from the spoon handle. “Since we won’t be flying back this year, I thought I’d give the family recipe a go.”

“Is there a sizeable difference between tamales and taquitos?” Shane reaches around Ryan to take the spoon back. “They look similarly processed in the freezer section. Practically the same thing.”

“First of all,” says Ryan, smacking Shane’s arm away, “how dare you. Second, what the fuck does this have to do with reindeer?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah. Anyway. Rudolph’s a lesbian.”

The wooden spoon thunks against the inside of the pot. “I’m sorry,  _ what?” _

“Rudolph has a girlfriend, and Rudolph’s female. Ergo, Rudolph is a lesbian.”

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shane.”

“I mean, she could just as easily be bisexual.”

“Shane, you’re taking this whole  _ Ruining Holidays _ thing way, way too seriously.” Ryan shakes his head and picks the knife back up. The edge scrapes sideways on the cutting board--Abuela makes cooking look so simple.

Shane prods the contents of a bowl. “What’s this?”

Ryan glances over, then begins sweeping the chopped onion into the pot. “Lard.”

“Isn’t a little bit--sort of  _ Little House on the Prairie? _ Couldn’t you just use...I don’t know, butter?”

“No.”

“We could even churn it!”

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mumbles.

“Is God a lardable substance?”

“What’s wrong with lard, anyway?” Ryan asks, trying to flick a piece of onion off his finger, ignoring him. “This is even, like, hipster lard. All organic and shit.”

Shane pretends to retch. “That would be a great name for a lard substitute: ‘I can’t believe it’s not excrement.’”

“Besides,” says Ryan, wiping the onion off on Shane’s t-shirt,  “ your opinion wasn’t in the recipe.” 

“Then your grandma’s missing an essential element.”

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

Shane narrows his eyes, but there’s still a smile on his face. “It’s as much mine as it is yours, short stuff. We married this house together.”

“Well the kitchen wants a divorce.” Ryan starts playfully shoving Shane toward the hallway. “Go work. You’ll need the money, because it’s asking for spousal support.”

“But I signed a pre-nup with the fridge!”

_ “Go,” _ but Ryan can’t keep from smiling, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[reblog this drabble on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/180814942024/oh-god-13-and-shyan-would-make-my-holiday)]


	3. Lee/Nigel: “One day of coal, 364 days of fun – I’ll take my chances.”

Nigel closes his truck door and stares at the roof. He blinks, then keeps staring. Rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, and yes, it’s still there. Both the decorations and the roof which, considering Lee’s house-husbanding prowess, Nigel should be grateful their home survived while he was at work.

There are very few times Nigel has been struck speechless in his life. This could possibly be the first time–his memories are hazy up until his forties.

“Well?” Lee shouts from where he sits on the shingles. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure I fucking am right now.”

Lee inches his way down toward the edge, a crab walk on a slide. “Can you read it?”

Nigel turns his construction helmet in his hands like he’s still driving. “That’s part of the problem,” because there, in pink and purple lights–“You realize children live in this neighborhood, yeah?”

Lee grins and shrugs. “It’s a classic Christmas song!”

“Darling, there’s a cock on our roof.”

“I’m offended.”

Nigel rolls his eyes. “Fine,  _two_  cocks.”

“Thank you for acknowledging my penis.” Lee laughs, then gestures at both his fly and the bulbous pink outline of a chimney. “Both of them.”

The truck creaks as Nigel climbs onto the hood. He reaches for his pack of cigarettes, then remembers he’s quit smoking. Lee almost slips on the ladder trying to get off the roof, because Nigel’s nerves weren’t frayed enough already.

“So what’s this classic Christmas song of yours?” asks Nigel once Lee is safely on the ground. “‘We Wish You a Merry Dickmas?’”

“‘Santa Claus is Back in Town.’” Lee jogs down the driveway–Nigel does his best not to ogle him. Even all bundled up, even continuing to recover, Lee’s the best snack Nigel’s ever had. “It’s by the King, you know?”

“Wenceslas?”

“Elvis.” Lee takes Nigel’s hand, lets Nigel pull him up to sit on the truck. “Please tell me you’ve heard it.”

“Not fucking once,” but Nigel’s typing it into the YouTube app on his phone. “Is that really one of the lyrics?” He nods toward the carefully crafted letters on their roof.

“More or less.” Lee snuggles into Nigel’s side and hums happily when Nigel’s arm settles on his shoulders. “It’s a remix.”

Nigel plays through the song twice, if for no other reason than he likes the feeling of a content Lee by his side. “That’s some damn remix, alright.”

“I’m an artist at heart.”

“And I can’t believe you wrote that on our house.”

Lee brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them. “I think it’s cute. Pinterest-worthy, even.”

Nigel snorts. “I don’t see Pinterest moms going for, ‘Santa came right down my chimney.’”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be dirty.”

“How’d you get it all to work? I mean, that neon dick is–”

“The dick is smoking,” Lee says. “The chimney is smoking. It’s totally smoke coming out of a chimney. Eye of the beholder.” He elbows Nigel as best he can and adds, “Dig a little deeper, grasshopper. All art is open to interpretation. Like…I don’t know, like how every mall Santa’s different from the other.”

“I’m surprised you think Santa’s going to fucking come at all this year.” Nigel pulls Lee closer, practically into his lap.

“One day of coal, 364 days of fun? I’ll take my chances.”

“Oh, no, you’ve earned an entire  _mine_  full of coal.” Against Lee’s cheek, Nigel murmurs, “And at least one angry letter from the Verger-Blooms.”

Lee presses his face into Nigel’s kiss. “I love Margot’s Christmas cards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[reblog this drabble on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/180901071504/an-frostyleegraham-sent-me-these-prompts-on)]


	4. Alana/Margot: “Christmas is cancelled, please leave presents at the door on the way out.”

Margot loves her children—all of them, the living son and the not-yet-born daughter and the one that never was. Morgan is the loudest of the three by default, though Margot’s sure that, once Alana delivers Abigail in February, she’ll challenge her older brother’s claim to the noise throne. For now, he practices shouting and running up and down the stairs and pulling breakable things off shelves.

Or, this morning, pushing the Christmas tree over when he tried to climb it. Margot’s beginning to understand why her mother’s hair was so thin.

Broken shards of shining gold and glass ornaments still nestle in the carpet by the time Alana comes home, Margot on hands and knees plucking out the bits the vacuum cleaner refused to pick up. Trapped inside the play yard, Morgan knocks the plastic pigs from his Fisher Price farm together, over and over, making car sounds when they crash.

Alana leans against the doorjamb, briefcase in one hand, the other absentmindedly rubbing her belly over her striped suit. “I’d ask how your day was,” she says, “but I think you might kill me.”

“Christmas is cancelled.” Margot glares at Alana’s obvious amusement. “When the family comes over, we’ll invite them in, take their coats, immediately hand their coats back, and tell them to leave presents at the door on the way out.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I’m not putting the da—the  _blam_  tree back up.”

“Of course not. We’ll let Morgan do it.”

Morgan perks up when he hears his name. “Mommy!” and he waves at her with both pigs. “Feed the baby!”

Usually, Margot laughs at Morgan reminding Alana to eat. Today, she’s just too tired. “Is it time for him to start preschool yet?”

“He doesn’t turn three for another four months.” Alana gives her belly one last parting pat. “Did you know you’re bleeding?” she asks, setting her briefcase down on the entryway table. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

Margot sits back on her heels to examine her hands. “On top of the fridge.” She glances down at the carpet. “I hope you like red polka dots.”

“I love p—”

“Feed the baby!”

“Morgan, just a minute, honey—I love red polka dots.” Alana’s kitten heels click against the kitchen floor’s ceramic tiles. “Where on top of the fridge?”

Margot wipes her hands off on her yoga pants. Might as well match the carpet. Behind her, Morgan makes an excited  _whoosh,_  and then a bright pink pig lands in the armchair to her right.

“Mar?”

“Sorry, behind the cookie jar.”

“Drink the baby, Mommy!” Morgan rattles one of the wooden sides of the play yard.

“Why is the cookie jar on top of the fridge?” Alana’s voice echoes as she shouts to be heard over their son.

Margot sighs, looking forlornly at the toppled tree. “Take a wild guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[reblog this drabble on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/180931373644/an-frostyleegraham-sent-me-these-prompts-on)]


	5. Ryan/Shane: "Sweet but twisted, does that make me a candy cane?"

Over the years, Shane has had so many terrible ideas, Ryan’s lost count. Even so, “When you said we were going out for a Christmas tree, I thought you meant, like, to a farm.”

“Farms are for cows.” Shane holds Ryan more tightly. “And pigs. Chickens. Sometimes trout.”

“Trout?”

“Yeah, you know. Fish nurseries, for pre-food. Keep up with the times, Ry.”

Ryan blinks a snowflake out of his eyelashes. “Do they raise frozen fish? Because I’m starting to feel like a fish stick, not gonna lie.”

“Awesome!” Shane slides further down the trunk, and Ryan braces his feet to not get pushed forward. “I love fish sticks.”

“Do you love frostbite? Because I see frostbite in our future.” Ryan snuggles his face into his scarf. He can’t decide if his body is more cold or more grumpy; either way, his muscles are protesting.

“Oh come on! This is perfect Bigfoot season!” Shane nuzzles the back of Ryan’s head, rubbing the knit of Ryan’s cap back and forth. “If Bigfoot can make it, so can you. Cold builds character.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in Bigfoot.”

“I don’t, but you do.”

Ryan sighs; his frown deepens. “We’re closer to Mothman territory, regardless.”

“And your love for his abs will keep you warm.” Shane tickles Ryan’s knee through the hole in his jeans. “I’m sorry you’re a clumsykins.”

“That root jumped up and tripped me, thank you very much.” Ryan wraps his arms around himself more tightly. “What does clumsykins even  _mean?_ ”

“It means you should watch your feet when we’re getting lost on privately owned pine tree property.”

“Oh my god.” An extra chill creeps around in Ryan’s vertebrae. “We’re going to be our own unsolved case.”

Shane chuckles, and the rise and fall of his chest is a welcome contrast to all the shivering Ryan’s been doing. “Good thing I’ve been attending all those cult meetings in my spare time.”

“I can’t believe you turned us into missing persons by looking for a Christmas tree.”

“It’s a heist!”

“Seriously, Shane?”

He shrugs; it shifts Ryan’s coat up, exposing a sliver of skin above the waist of his pants. “It sounded like a fun date night.”

Ryan squirms, trying to tug his coat back down without removing his hands from the warmth of his armpits. “So, what, a relationship building retreat?”

“Yeah. Like–like a trust exercise.” Shane pulls the tail of Ryan’s coat back into place. “I’m sure Google will start, you know, doing its mapping thing eventually. Trust in me and our beneficent internet overlords.”

“Meanwhile, I freeze to death.”

“No you won’t!” Shane rubs his hands up and down Ryan’s shins. “You’re wearing long underoos. Besides, when Bigfoot shows up, I’ll gut him like a tauntaun and stuff you in his innards to keep you warm.”

“That’s…actually, that’s kind of sweet.” Ryan shakes his head and qualifies, “Twisted, but sweet.”

“Sweet but twisted–does that make me a candy cane?”

“You better not be about to make a licking pun innuendo.”

“A punnuendo?” Shane scoffs, slaps Ryan’s chest in lieu of his own, mocking insult. “Me? I would  _never.”_

Ryan laughs, but not for long, because he realizes, “Did you even bring anything out here to chop a tree down with?”

“What do I look like to you, a terrifying axeman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[reblog this drabble on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/181157569269/an-in-addition-to-this-prompt-left-on-ao3-i)]

**Author's Note:**

> Ready for a new chapter? Gift wrap a prompt for me over at tumblr ~~before it burns to the ground in a blaze of hot-wired Christmas tree lot glory~~! I'm also taking prompts in the comments!
> 
> [[about me](https://shiphitsthefan.carrd.co/)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and comments are cherished. <3


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